The Black Hero of Ideals
by Pokegirl and Thorn
Summary: He was born of a lie, and now he risks everything because he finally came to realize the truth; the truth of his love, the truth of his past, and the truth of what he must do to live up to the title given to him by his father, The original Black Hero of Ideals, if only then his heart will finally be black enough to be accepted by the light. OCxOC and references to Pokemon B
1. Part I- Of Black and White

Hanging. He was hanging.

He was hanging on by a thread, his mind a torrent of feelings and pain, just like the world around him. He was hanging on to the remains of a balcony of some sort, the cylinder-shaped stone railing clutched in his hands as his body swayed back and forth teasingly over the abyss beneath him. He gritted his teeth, attempting to pull himself just a bit higher so that his feet could get a hold on the rocky ledge just a few feet away, but something stopped him. He quit struggling, letting his body resume its dangerous dangle above the broken cavern underneath him; strange as it was, he didn't want to save himself, just like he wasn't scared of falling. Pieces of his chin-length jet black hair fell in his face as he looked down to his feet beneath him, wiggling his toes inside his leather boots to keep himself from looking down into the wreckage. He might have not been scared of falling, but the prospect of actually looking down into what he was falling into scared him out of his mind. Broken homes, destroyed buildings, corpses, corpses everywhere; this is what lies beneath his feet. He is all too well aware of it.

_Zekrom… where's Zekrom?_

He can't seem to remember what happened to his friend. He tries so hard, but keeps coming up blank. _Reshiram… Reshiram did this… _and then, just like his dragon's brilliant striking lightning bolt, he remembers. Reshiram had sunk the castle. It had been aiming for him, aiming for his dragon, but it had misfired its Fusion Flare, hitting the castle instead. The rest… well, the rest would be history. But Zekrom… suddenly they were falling out of the sky, and he was falling off of Zekrom's back. He had hit the ground hard, the impact shattering his grip of reality. He tumbles, he thinks, tumbles and falls and then rolls off the cliff, when somehow his mind comes back to him, and he grabs on to the balcony and hangs there as he is now. _Zekrom… _he cannot help but fear his friend has departed from this world, stolen by the 'god' she had proclaimed to exist. A tear comes to his eye for not only himself, but for his valiant friend. His reasons…. His reasons for existing…. They had all departed.

Hanging here, he could not help but think to how this all started. His father… his Uncle, this was their fight, but somehow it had fallen through the cracks of time and landed in his generation's lap. He was the son of the younger twin, the Ideals Seeker, his cousin the son of the Truth Pursuer. Even when they were kids, they knew this, though they didn't know what it would mean one day. They used to be so ignorant, playing 'Hero' in the castle gardens, taking turns being the Hero of Truth because nobody wanted to be the 'bad guy', the Hero of Ideals. Life had been fine, life had been as simple as a child's mind could make it, and then the day when he was bestowed the title of Hero of Ideals, the day the Dark Stone, a family heirloom, was given to him. And his cousin became the Hero of Truths, the new golden child, the true hero of the region, the one fit to sit on the throne.

Now looking back at all the things he'd done, he hadn't done it for the obvious reasons. He hadn't committed those actions out of spite, or for revenge; he hadn't done them for power or even for the throne. No, he had done it for a much more selfish intention than any of those reasons would have provided, forever reminding him of what he truly was.

He had done it for love.

The reason his castle had crumbled, the reason his friend and advisor was no more, was the reason he didn't want to be saved, it all was love.

She had walked into his life quite unceremoniously on one average day in the early spring, sometime in the late morning. He had been sitting in his grand and gilded white and gold throne room, perched on his freshly-polished black stone throne, head in his hand bored out of his mind; his cousin sat on his pure white throne, reading over some royal decree that had happened earlier that morning. The bell-chimes had run, signaling that someone had arrived, the guards in the room informing them of the completely obvious.

"My lord, someone had arrived at the ga-"

"Oh, please, we already know. Just hurry up and bring them in." he had growled at a sentry standing beside his throne. He had bowed in return, biting back whatever fowl words he likely wished to spout at his lord for his bad attitude. Some days he wished they had spoken such words to him; it would have been quite fun watching them being dragged off to the dungeon or seeing the look on their face when it was announced they would be banished or beheaded. But more often than not, the held their tongues, making castle life such a bore. Wasn't half the fun of being a royal in watching your subjects being punished?

The doors of the their throne room were flung open within a minute of the bells being chimed, surprising him enough to look up from digging his riding-filthy boot into the snow-white rug that led from the door of the room to his throne. Someone was being shepherded into the room by their guards, which puzzled him even more. He had thought it had simply been another one of the orphans who showed up on their doorstep from time to time pleading for a position as a servant, or chamber maid as some way to get food down their scrawny necks, but they were usually turned away at the gate. This, now this, as an entirely different matter. He looked straight forward to the door, almost _eager_ to see who had been given the privilege of an audience with them, though he did not pick his head up out of his hands, still trying to feign indifference to it all.

And that's when the guards parted, and she walked through the door.

She was so tiny, she could have easily been mistaken for an orphan, though something about her made it obvious she was more than just the common rabble. She was very petite, looking to only have been about five feet or so, and she was so skinny it seemed that if a strong wind should blow she would float away with it. And then there was her hair, oh her hair: it was like liquid moonlight, the color of glowing silver, and fell in straight silken strands down her back, settling at her slightly curved hips. Her features were porcelain and dainty, like that of an expensive doll. Her eyes were obsidian-black, her irises so dark it was hard to distinguish them from her actual pupils. Her clothes were as simple as an orphan's, being an artless dress that hung off of her like a curtain and drooped off her left shoulder, but it was a stainless white, an impossible feat for the dirtiness that came with being homeless. She held herself with pride, shoulders back, chest pushed out, head held high, and strutted into the throne room like it was her very own bed chamber.

He was immediately intrigued by this mysterious silver girl. She looked to be no more than twelve, having no evident curves that might have proved otherwise. Still however wrong it was for a fifteen-year old to lust after of a twelve-year old girl, he felt that scarlet red emotion beginning to cloud his mind, and began to wish it was nighttime instead of nearing early afternoon, and that it was just the two of them in his bed chamber rather than the quickly becoming crowded throne room.

"What is the meaning of your visit? Why have you been given pass here?" his cousin asked almost breathlessly, his eyes having been pried from the parchment decree to stare at the haunting beauty of the silver girl. His cousin was a master at hiding his emotions, but he could tell his counterpart had been taken by the sight of her as well, though he could bet that what his cousin was thinking was much more innocent than what he had in mind about the girl. He had not been able to contain the smirk that plastered itself across his face; when it came to women, he certainly almost always won; this stunning child would be only the latest of his victories.

She stood tall and proud, addressing the throned cousins directly, rather than having the guards speak for her "My name is Willamena, and I am an ambassador for the God Pokémon, here on royal business."

His cousin was set aback, momentarily startled by her proclamation before reverting back to his normally impregnable face. "Hmm, is that so? Do you have any identification?" his shrew cousin asked, raising an eyebrow. He could not help but mentally smack himself upside the head; _leave it to him to go right back into royal-mode when a beautiful girl comes in claiming to be a high-standing person of interest. _Oh the rules and procedures were such a bore to him; he hated how long and droning they were. Still, he could not help but be skeptical towards this girl's claims, this mysterious Willamena's role in all of this.

He had heard of the 'God Pokémon' before, though he highly doubted its existence. For such a long time, he and his kingdom had looked to Zekrom and Reshiram as their gods, passing off the claims of a real God Pokémon to only be mythology. There were but few tales telling of this 'God' and all accounts of it could easily be disproved. He began to feel his hopes that this girl might be some wild, foreign, high-standing dignitary here to bring some interest into their boorish lives diminish; she was likely nothing more than an impersonator here looking for a way to get their kingdom's money. Still, if she really was a fraud just looking to make a pretty penny, his lust might still prove to be useful to her.

The silver-haired girl smiled demurely, almost like she had expected to be bothered with proving her claims. Wordlessly, she reached a hand into her pocket and pulled out a golden badge of some sort. From where he sat, it looked to be made of solid gold, making him raise his eyebrows. No common orphan or trickster would be able to procure such a large hunk of pure gold; _maybe she was who she said she was._

His thinking was reaffirmed when a collective group gasp was echoed about the room. He actually lifted his head up out of his hands, eyes wide with shock on what was engraved on the golden badge.

It was a four-sided diamond of sorts, the dual diamonds coming together in the center to form a small circle between them. The diamonds on either side of the circle had their branches overlapping, coming to form crisscrossed points marked with thumbnail-sized emeralds. This was an extremely rare insignia, only available to those of extremely high-standing nature, and anybody making something with that sign on it without written permission was beheaded on the spot. This was called the Archeus Ring, the very sign of the fabled God Pokémon itself.

Any doubt that she was a fraud was quickly erased of the minds of the cousins, and all those present. He sat back, head in his hand, a dangerous smile blooming in his face. _Oh this is rich! _He though deviously to himself. He wanted to have her even more now; he had had chambermaids and even a princess or two before, but never an ambassador of the supposed highest standing being in the entire world. Why if he could bed her, he might as well have the voice of the God itself on his side in court; and right now, he needed all the help he could get.

"My! Well, it seems like you were telling the truth. It's such a surprise to have such a dignitary in our mist! We weren't aware of your arrival, else we would have put together something much more suited to one of your stature!" His cousin exalted grandly, getting up from his throne to approach her. His cousin had long hair as well, just as long as the silver girl's, white as winter snow, which he wore in a long thing braid that trailed down his back, and let the rest of his white-blond hair form wavy spikes that hung lazily across his face.

His cousin shot him a look that said 'get up and greet our guest please', making him sigh, taking his head out of his hand. He got up and marched across the throne room with his brother, strutting right up to the silver-haired dignitary. Her head only came up to the center of his chest, marked just above the start of his rib cage. Before his cousin could protest, he took her hand in his own black-gloved one, bringing it to his lips and giving it a gentle kiss. "To what do we owe the pleasure of one as stunning as yourself in our humble kingdom?" he smiled into her hand.

With tasteful grace, she gently pulled her hand from his grip, bringing it back to her side "I am here in the name of my master to act as a vigil for the time being, seeing how you all are treating the incidents that have been plaguing your region as of late. Quite simply, I am here to see if you are waging war on Ransei or not." She spoke firm, her demeanor almost that of boredom as she flushed the wordier version of her explanation, going to that of bluntness on the second.

He could sense his cousin stiffen beside him. He himself began to grit his teeth. Ransei was the closest nation to their Unova region, being an island a few hundred miles away from their eastern coast. If one squinted very hard at the horizon at sunrise or sunset, they could make out the western edge of Ransei. Lately, small seaside towns had been sacked by Ransei's navy, and towns on Unova's borders under Ransei's control had attacked the kingdom's outposts and foot soldiers. At first it had been dismissed as minor accuracies, ones of no particular interest, but as they grew more and more frequent it became obvious something was brewing under the surface. The two regions were virtually mirrors of one-another, and it was speculated Ransei was a landmass that was originally part of Unova, though over time it had grown into a region all its own. It had seventeen kingdoms, versus the Unova's single ruling one, each with domain over a natural resource of some sort. They were massive powerhouses with extreme potential threat of taking the entire region and claiming it as their own. His apprehension towards the subject of war was not out of concern for his citizens though; he had his own reasons.

"Ah I see…" His cousin began, twirling a stray strand of moon-white hair around his forefinger thoughtfully. His cousin had done this since he was a child, and he found it entertaining that he still held on to such behaviors; well that made one of them.

"Why don't you join us in the castle for dinner tonight? And perhaps honor us with the privilege of providing lodging for you tonight, my dear. It would be a shame if you had to stay at some lower-class inn…" he smiled, turning on his charm. His deep purple eyes had gleamed mischievously, trying to send off a more covert signal through them rather than with his words. He was determined to get this girl to stay; the pros of her visitation were far too great for one such as her to slither from his grasp, in more ways than one.

She gave him a mild look, and he couldn't decide whether or not if she had gotten his message. "That would be… very honorable of you to give a simple master's servant such an offer. I accept your invitation of generosity."

"Thank you; you cannot understand what a privilege it is to host an ambassador of one such as yourself in our humble castle. If you please, I can show you to your room." His icy-blond-haired cousin smiled grandly, offering her a short bow and his arm so that he could lead her off to her chambers. She accepted it like a lady, looping her thin arm through his cousin's own slightly muscular one and walking demurely at his side as he took her off. A few guards came from their positions surrounding the room to escort them off to their destination, offering up various empty rooms that might have been to her liking.

He did not feel any malice towards his brother taking the lead with the lady; he would get her to himself later. Instead of chasing them, he just gave their backs a mildly amused look, giving the lady the slightly intrigued look of a lazy Purrloin's when she turned her head slightly to look behind her. She did it so subtly, he was sure no one but he caught it.

He had decided to take it as mutual intrigue on her part.

**OOOOOOOOO**

He had come for her after the feast; the whole affair had been grand, the best in food, entertainment, and wine having been rolled out in her honor. Choice cuts of Bouffalant and Ducklett had adorned everyone's plate, all the goblets filled to the brim with the finest wines, and the entire palace seeming to rumble with the laughter of those inside of it. It had lasted for several hours, and now everyone was starting to return to their beds or posts, the cousins and the mysterious Willamena as well.

She did not seem the least bit drunk at all, turning down every glass of wine offered to her at the party, walking her straight lines with purpose as she made her way from the banquet hall to her chamber. He had not been drunk either; this was more because he did not like the taste of wine or really alcohol in general, rather than the desire to have her sober. He supposed it might have been fun if he was drunk too, though.

Just as she reached her door, he touched his hand to her shoulder. She spun around slowly, almost like she was expecting to be pounced upon before bed. Her facial expression did not change either when her black eyes settled upon his own purple ones.

"Oh, lord Dhiren. To what do I owe the pleasure of your audience?" her tone was almost one of mocking, her dignitary tone completely gone now that she was addressing one of the lords on his own without his subjects present.

He had smiled coyly, leaning up against the wall so that his chin was directly above her head. "You see my lady, I was wondering if you might give me the pleasure of showing me what's on that shoulder of yours, since you seem _so _keen on hiding it. I'm ashamed to say, I'm quite fascinated by you. And maybe if that goes well, we might be allowed to… show a bit more, hmm?"

All during the feast he had watched her, glancing secretly at her over his wine goblet, giving her amused glances as she talked with the other dignitaries in the castle, laughing covertly at her face when she didn't get the joke the entertainer had said; all while doing this, he noticed that she was constantly pulling up the right side of her dress, making sure her right shoulder didn't show. Her dress was one that was supposed to hang off one's shoulders, but she always kept it tilted so that only a good bit of her left shoulder was ever seen. This interested him even more.

Her face became slightly less mocking, her features becoming more pinched, though she was still stunning despite this "I'm sorry, but I think not. Perhaps… some other time" she said the last words like she had tasted something foul. She turned on her heel, reaching for the doorknob that led into her room, without a second thought to him.

His arm snaked out and snapped at her wrist like an Ekans striking playfully at its victim before delivering the final blow. "Oh, my lady, surely you do not mean to put off such things. If you are scared for your position at all, I…" he stuck his nose in her hair, nuzzling her head and swallowing her sweet and surprising rosy scent "I'm sure I could work this out. No one can _really _disrespect my wishes without some sort of…. consequences…" his voice had become more and more husky as the conversation had gone on.

She pushed him off of her so fast he hardly had time to blink, spinning out of his reach and landing daintily on her toes like a dancer. While she wasn't overly strong, she was quick enough to get him off of her before he could protest. "Unhand me, you cad. I may be a servant to one, but I am not a common chamber maid. Just because I am here in your castle does not mean I am a thing you own, and therefore are allowed to do with as you please. Now, I will dismiss this little occurrence as a joke. We have business to attend to in the morning, and I want to be well awake for it. Goodnight, lord Dhiren." She slammed the door to her chamber closed with a bang of finality.

He was shocked silent, standing limply in the place where she had pushed him off of her. It was confusing to him; she had just pushed off one of the most powerful, and handsome, bachelors in the entire region. He was in his prime, being only fifteen and having a body sculpted like an angel's; he was long and lean, with enough muscle to be deemed strong but not grossly obsessed so. His hair was the darkest shade of black, seductively hanging in his face in such a way most wanted to run their hands through it and push it away from his midnight purple eyes. His skin was clear of all blemishes and scars, and was the color of tea with lots of Moomoo milk poured into it. And she had turned down _this_? He did not feel angry towards her though; if anything… he was even more taken by her. He crossed his arms, looking at her doorway again; if anything, he actually respected her more now, as she was beautiful, a dignitary, and had a mind of her own. Her dazzling sprit was intoxicating; he wanted more of it.

The next morning, he had woken up in a prospectively good mood, despite the events of the night before. There was to be a council meeting this afternoon, about the most recent of events regarding Ransei. She was going to be there. He had decided he should look his best for this meeting, rather than simply brushing his hair and washing his face like he would for the usual conferences. He dressed in his best, a nice formal outfit of a black tailcoat with pinstripes of electric blue and long draping sleeves that connected to the body of the coat by a black leather strap and a buckle, and a pair of straight-legged thunderstorm-grey pants. As he brushed his hair back with a small gilded comb, he thought over the game plan he had come up with: He had made the decision that he was going to approach her again, but this time with respect; he was going to apologize to her. And then, perhaps he would get the treatment he deserved from her.

The council was called to order at noon sharp, and everyone donned their perspective chairs around the council room, the cousins in their black and white marble seats, and the council men sitting at rounded tables or standing in various places around the room. Willamena was given a chair in the back of the room, padded with four of the best Caterpie silk thread pillows in the castle so that she could see clearly over the entire council room. She sat next to a big day window, its filmy curtains occasionally brushing up against her exposed left shoulder.

"I call the Council of the Truths and Ideals to order," his cousin started, rising up from his chair and silencing the buzzing room. "Please, if you may."

The council men settled down, returning to their seats and facing forward like obedient school children. He rolled his eyes; they followed his cousin as blindly as a Zubat follows its own echoes. They sat when they were told to, spoke when they were told to, and danced _only _when they were told to. They either were completely incompetent, or they had the utmost respect for his older cousin; he suspected a bit of both.

His cousin sat back down "Sir. Kashimi, what have you found on the most recent attack on our harbor town, Casteilia?"

The man got up and bowed deeply to the cousins "My lord Akiren, my lord Dhiren, we have found that…" he decided to faze the rest of the conversation out. He really only came to these things out of royal duty, as the mention of their neighboring nation always brought such foul feeling to his mind. He often found himself wishing that it would just go away, that the nation would go poof, and be gone. He wished there was some other news going on other than with that cursed nation. Still, these meetings continued on, and pained him more and more to show up.

About halfway through the boorish meeting, he had begun to fall asleep, head in his hand once again. He glanced lazily around the room, looking for some means of entertainment to keep him from sleeping, when his eyes landed on Willamena.

She had hardly spoke throughout the entire conference, adding in polite opinions on whatever they had asked about and on occasion even added a tidbit or two of a mocking remark, but otherwise stayed silent. His eyes flickered open as he watched her; she had turned her head out into the window, eyes glued to something outside. She seemed as utterly bored as he was. He realized that it was the castle gardens that she was watching; the gardens were one of the prides of the castle, being an amazing black and white spectacle with a patch of rainbow color in the middle. Wild Pokémon wandered the grounds freely, and were often found mingling about in the gardens. She seemed completely entranced, looking out the window, watching the Pidove and Cottonee float by with such interest that it made the entire council room seem like another dimension. And that's when he got the idea: he was going to take her to explore the gardens as an apology.

By the time the conference was over, it had become a dusky twilight outside, the sky painted an artist's dream of fiery oranges and enchanting hues of blue. The weary council men filed out of the room, gathering their papers and congratulating each other on how well the day went, despite nothing really being accomplished. It had been another day of retelling the events of the past few weeks, coupled by the need for war verse the need for peace, and even the prospect of trade routes and cease-fire pacts brought up again. He had watched Willamena the entire time through, only speaking when the subject fell to the prospect of war. She had fled the council room just as soon as the bell was rung to signal the conference over, and he had had to dash out of the room right away to catch up with her.

He had caught her right before she disappeared into her room again, stopping her with a gentle clearing of his throat this time rather than outright groping for her. Again she turned around slowly, taking her time in figuring out how to handle her pursuer. When she saw it was him, she didn't flee, she just stared him down, face a mask of omnipotent indifference. "Yes, lord Dhiren? Why have you come to harass me at my chambers again?" she did not fight back the blatant irritation in her voice.

He bowed to her, not as low as one might to one of her stature, but just enough so that his head and her head were on the same level "I have come to apologize for my behavior last night. I seems… I was caught by your beauty, and could not contain myself…" he hid a secret smile while he was still bowed down to her; _caught would be too plain of a word to use when describing it… _maybe there still was a chance he could have his way with her through flattery.

To his utter surprise, she hiked up a leg and kneed him in the face, causing him to jerk back in surprise. She hadn't actually hurt him, but still the action of getting kneed to the face was still likely to leave a bruise. "You can quit playing dignified prince with me, my lord. I told you I would pass it off as a joke, nothing more, nothing less. But in entailing with that, I was also dismissing the matter _completely. _Also, your false words of flattery and apology will get you nowhere with me. Now, if you excuse me, I need to get ready for dinner." She began to slip through the door, but he actually reached out and caught her arm.

"No… please… let me start over. I really am sorry; I just didn't expect such a response from you. Normally girls have no trouble accepting my offers but…" he was looking right at her face, and by the sour expression on it, he could tell he wasn't going anywhere "I mean, your independence if very commendable. And as an apology, I am willing to give you a complete tour of the castle gardens." He dared give her a smile, not like the seductively coy ones he had yesterday, but an honestly genuine smile. It felt weird on his face, but he kept it there, hoping it would help him make some head way with her.

"Why would you even suggest such a thing? I never said anything about wanting to see the garden." She pulled her arm from his, crossing her arms and looking away; she did not, however, outright say she did not want to go.

"Because you were looking out the window the entire time at the conference. You seemed really entranced by them, so I supposed that you might want to tour them in their entire expanse? We have some of the rarest flora and fauna in the entire region contained to our backyard. It's quite a sight…" he raised his eyebrows.

She cast a quick look of longing out the window to their right, trying to hide it but knowing he would notice it anyway. Eventually, curiosity won over apprehension, and she agreed. "Fine, I'll accept your means of apology, as long as we are back in time for dinner. Heaven knows how I will be reprehended for frolicking around at night with an unmarried man…"

He took her arm up in his without asking for permission, and began to lead her away to the doors leading out to the gardens. She began to protest in his arms, moaning about how she could escort herself and didn't need to be handled like a child, but still he kept her on his arm; he did like being a gentle man after all.

**OOOOOOOOO**

"Oh my! Oh, wow, I mean… uh… its lovely…" Willamena adorably stumbled over her words. They had just entered the gardens, stepping through a rounded tunnel of sorts that was really a cylinder of trellises covered in black and white roses; it was like a dome the way it spiraled over them, bits and pieces of moonlight streaking through and giving a mysterious light to the otherwise dark path.

They were now in the center of the Truths Courtyard, the white half of the dual-toned gardens. Gazing around at all the snow-white splendor surrounding him, he could not help by feel a little out of place in this gleaming pure white world; everything from the fountain to the plants to even the grasses and Pokémon that dwelled here were all an innocent shade of unadulterated white. It made him feel like a dirty black smudge on the front of an aristocrat's best white suit, obscene and utterly revolting. But Willamena, being all sliver and white, fit in perfect here, and it calmed his nervousness a bit. That was why, after all, he had thought they should enter on this side of the gardens.

"All these flowers… and the grass… it's all white. How… how did you get them like this?" Willamena asked breathlessly, her countenance coming alive in the moonlight, surrounded by all these flowers. She fingered their leaves with a gentle hand, utterly entranced by their mysterious properties.

He couldn't help but smile at her giddiness; it only added to her dazzling personality. "All the plants and flowers here are all naturally white. Almost all species have genome for white pigment in their genes, however it is a recessive gene, and therefore very rare. All the flora you see here were bred so that their only genes were the ones for white pigment, and so that is why everything in this side of the garden will forever remain white."

She studied a white rose, fingering its waxy petals "Is the same for the other side of the gardens? The… black side?"

He wasn't surprised she knew about the other side of the gardens; she likely could see it from her perch next to the day window in the council room. He hadn't really planned on taking her over there, though it was technically part of the 'entire' gardens. To him it seemed like placing a burning candle under a glass jar; the light went out. Imagining her in his black paradise was… discomforting. No, they would simply stay on this side of the gardens, only venturing close to his dark domain in order to reach the fully colored center of the gardens.

"Uh, my lord…. You were giving me a tour?"

She shocked him out of his own world "Erm, yes. Right this way…" he began to shepherd her down another path, this one made up entirely of light grey and white tinted glass, making little _clink _noises as they walked along on it. He tried his best to keep form touching her, though it seemed it was all he wanted to do; best try to repair the broken before trying to push it onward. He sneaked a hand down her flowing silver hair though, letting his fingers wander briefly through the silver streams of her hair before pulling away quickly when she turned around.

They were silent for a while, both wrapped up in their own minds. Every now and again, Willamena would break off from the path to look at some plant or to ogle at a passing Pokémon, allowing him the chance to look at her without her noticing. She had a birthmark on the back of her neck shaped a little bit like a flower; it seemed to almost resemble a water lily. He longed to stroke it, but kept his hands firmly at his sides; if his plan worked, there would be plenty of time for that later.

After some time they had reached the center of the 'Truth' half of the gardens, which was another courtyard of sorts, but this one had a crystal clear blue pond as its centerpiece, surrounded by more white roses and a blooming magnolia tree. He watched as she sat down under a trellis of white roses, almost seeming to disappear entirely into them; he took a teensy step forward just so that he could still pick her out amongst the flowers. He watched her curiously as she picked the long-stemmed roses one by one, braiding them into a prickly tiara of sorts. She fingered the edges with care, watching the thorns with caution so she wouldn't cut herself.

More time passed in the silence, she playing with her alabaster rose crown, he sneaking peeks at her from behind his hair as he dug his boot into the white grass; he had made quite a dent in the carpet of white, and a dark black hole of dirt had surfaced amongst the crowds of pure white grass. _There _he thought to himself _it's my garden too._

"My master… it loves flowers. Our own garden at home is positively brimming with all sorts of species of plants we have brought back from our travels around the world. When we bring back something new, it's always a challenge finding a home for it…" she giggled a bit, making him pick his head up to look her square in the face. Even her giggle was charming, befitting to her doll-like appearance.

She had put the crown on her head, and was now busying herself with fashioning another one, all the while still filling the empty silence with her calming voice "I mean, it makes sense that the creator of everything would have a fondness for its creations. If I had made the world, I would have wanted to fill it with things I liked too. My master is very caring. My master cares for all of its subjects and doesn't discount any one of us. We are all equal in my master's eyes." She smiled down into her fingers, biting off the end of a rose stem so that it fit better inside the ring she was making. He couldn't help but worry about her cutting her lip on one of the gruesome thorns; when she pulled away her lips unbloodied, he mentally sighed in relief.

"It seems every other word out of your mouth is 'my master this; my master that'. Why are you so dedicated to it? It's almost unnatural." The idea one could be so devoted to someone boggled his mind; while he was not exactly eager to find out, he still had an inquisitiveness about it that wanted to be satisfied.

Willamena went quiet for a moment, even her hands freezing in their place wrapped around the stems of two flowers. She seemed almost lost within herself, even her breathing frozen in her chest. When she spoke, it was filled with the loneliest warmth of a tone he had ever heard "My master saved my life."

He was stunned silent, his eyebrows rising high into his hair in such a way they disappeared completely. This was something he hadn't expected at all. Before he could realize it, he was walking over to her, coming to stand beside her and block the moonlight from hitting her. Suddenly conscious of himself, he moved out of the way, allowing the light to hit her hair again and cause it to sparkle like a pearl in the night again; _that's better. _Still, he thought to her statement. "What do you mean?"

She still seemed a little frozen, though her hands had thawed out enough to continue working on the rose circlet "It was about a year ago. My family had gotten sick with the Bloody Plague, and naturally I got sick too. In fact our entire village succumbed to it. My mother was the first to go, and then my father. And then I was the only one left. I don't remember much after that, I just know I wondered for a while, trying to seek help in neighboring towns, but always being turned away at the door once they saw my blood-stained dress…"she broke off again, reaching for another rose.

When she didn't start up again, his own mind began to wonder. He had heard about the 'Bloody Plague' before, just as he had heard of the supposed 'God' Pokémon. It was a devastating sickness that had swept half the globe off its feet. It was a bacterial sickness that caused the body to begin to literally rot from the inside out, the body's own defense system breaking down the internal organs and tissues into liquid. The body then began to bleed from every orifice, the liquefied internal organs as well, and then the person would die an excruciatingly painful death. It had no cure, and was basically a death sentence to anyone who contracted it; it was an extremely infectious disease, though no one knew how it was transferred. No one had died of if in Unova surprisingly enough though, as it seemed the disease itself had never landed on its shores. He wondered where she was from; she had never told them.

She finally sighed, starting up again "And then one day, I came across the village where the 'God' Pokémon resided. I didn't know that at the time though, I was just wondering blindly until the rest of my body bled out through my ears and all the pain would finally go away. I remember collapsing into the dirt, seeing the last of my innards run out through my mouth and then… there was a light and the silhouette of something was standing over me. I suddenly felt better. I felt good enough to sleep, the pain having been taken away enough to allow me to sleep. I closed my eyes, thinking it would be the last time I ever did anything in this body, but then I opened them again. And I….I was in a house. I was alive." She had finished her rose crown, setting it on the stone bench beside her, looking at the shadows it cast on the moon-lit stone bench "I learned I had been saved by the God of our world. The God Pokémon. I never really knew if it actually existed or not beforehand, but I knew it really existed because it was the first one to visit me when I awoke.

"How did it save you…?" he asked, his simple interest in the story having bloomed to a full on fascination. He didn't even try to hide the growing eagerness in his voice, her sad yet astonishing tale having lulled him back to his days of childhood innocence when all it took to get his attention was to tell an enthralling story. He had long collected facts and scientific wonders like others collected rare Pokémon or precious jewels; but he enjoyed their realness rather than their beauty, contenting himself to study each one until he knew everything there was to know about the subject.

"It gave me a piece of itself, a piece of its immortality." She went quiet for a moment, almost seeming like she was caught in the sudden urge to cry "But the rest is history. I was an orphan, so I pleaded for work, and it honored me by becoming my master. We began to travel the world together, working together on official business and such, and my master was always there as my guardian. I was treated like gold… I was treated better than I ever had been before, even better than my own parents had treated me. I was an only child, so when they died I was worried I would die alone… but… my master sort of became my parent." Finally she actually looked up to glance at my face, a small smile playing on her lips "I bet it sounds asinine to call a being such as the God of our world my parent, but it's truly how I feel. No one else cared for me when I needed help… only my master…" her eyes had become a bit watery, and she noticed this, sticking her face in her sleeve and not coming out until her face was good and dry. "Please, I'm sorry for all that nonsense. Please forget you even heard it."

Against his better judgment, he sat down next to the silver-haired girl, handing her the rose circlet before sitting down so's that he wouldn't crush it. "No, I understand. I'm and only child too…. It was really lonely growing up. All I had was Akiren for support…"

She eyed him questioningly "I never would have guessed that you two were so close. My lords both seem so flippant around each other."

He smiled, turning his gaze to the top of her head, where the moon-colored roses actually seemed to glow on top of her silver locks "We've always been very close, as he was an only child too. However, once our royal duties began, we had to focus on more meaningful matters rather than playing with each other. Still, we were all we had. We were never allowed to own or train Pokémon because we were always destined for our titles' counterparts."

She looked down at her fingers, playing with the thorns of the rose circlet again, making his heart jump in his chest each time her long white fingers brushed by a spiky rose "But certainly you both had your parents to help you along. It is their kingdom too."

He shook his head, feeling his own emotions start to play out over his face "No, they were dead too."

* * *

**Hello all! My name is Pokegirl, and this is my Serperior, Thorn!**

**Thorn-"Meh"**

**Thank you so much for checking out my story. This is just a little something I thought up one night when I was out riding my bike, and shortly before I was hit by a car (but that's a story for another time -.-') This was originally going to be a one-shot, but it was turning out to be too long, so I decided to cut it into five parts -.- Oh, and most of this is all from my imagination, as Willamena, Dhiren and Akiren are all my OCS, but it does make refs to Pokemon Conquest.**

**please review and enjoy :)**


	2. Part II- Of Disgrace and Disbelief

His parting words to her that night had been "I don't believe in your god."

Her response was to shrug with a slight indignity that normally would have been reprimanded harshly, but he instead chose to ignore it. She didn't reply immediately, turning her attention to playing with the draping bell-sleeve of her pristine white dress. Her dress slipped a bit, revealing a bit more of her upper chest than publically acceptable, but he wasn't looking at her; he had his eyes on the ground.

She was humming to herself, some off-beat melody he had never heard before. Noticing her drooping dress, she pulled back up her tilted neckline, drawing her hand all the way up to the hollow at the base of her neck before letting it drop back into its rightful lady-like place. She sighed.

When she replied, she spoke in a neutral tone, not at all shaming or mocking, simply, educating. "My lord is allowed to believe only what he wishes to. But there are many things out there, things I have witnessed and been a part of that normally I would have called false should I have not witnessed it firsthand. My God and your God can be as different as you want them to be, as black and white as it pleases you, but know I have lived it first hand, so it may sway my judgment a little." And with that she rose to her feet, looping the four rose circlets she had made around her left arm, hardly batting a dewy eyelash when a rouge thorn caught at her dress sleeve.

His eyes remained on the ground, fists starting to clench in such a way that drove his fingernails painfully into his palms, making him cringe. She placed a hand on his shoulder, jarring him from his own thoughts.

She quickly retracted he hand, suddenly conscious that she was touching a royal without their permission. She settled back on her heels, swaying slightly. "It seems we have been out much longer than intended. We certainly have missed dinner." She said in a mellow voice, a stray hint of hidden emotion tugging at her next words "But I do suppose I had a lovely time, nonetheless. I look forward to continuing this tour, if you shall have me. And… I accept your apology…" she met his gaze for a brief moment, her black eyes pouring into his deep dusk stone colored ones with a newfound respect for him. She withdrew a crown from her arm, holding it out with two fingers to him, letting the bright white roses bathe in the illuminating glow of the midnight moon "…If you accept mine."

Her fingers were held there, suspended in the moonlight, and he thought for a moment about shoving it away. His brain lost control, his heart taking over, and his hands acted without his permission, reaching out on their own and lifting the crown gently from her fingers. His hand retracted back to his side, fingering the rose circlet guiltily like they knew they had done something wrong. He took hold of his fingers again, crushing the nearest rose with a closed fist.

The petals crumpled and fell away from the intertwined stems, brushing past his boots as they fluttered to the ground, disappearing into the sea of white grass. He felt a warm, beating liquid drip down his fingers.

"Goodnight, my lord Dhiren. I thank you again for your apology. Till' the marrow…" Willamena bowed then, the strands of her endless silver hair skimming the tops of the longest blades of grass as she dipped down and slid back up. She hadn't seemed to have noticed the crushed flower petals. She turned on heel, her dress swishing with her, blossoming out into an upside-down magnolia flower, and disappeared around the corner of a pitch white hedge. He couldn't hear her light footsteps trailing off into the night.

He closed his eyes, glad she was gone. He gritted his teeth, crushing the rose tiara in his full fist this time, the sharp thorns trying to poke their way out of his vice grip, but only succeeding in slicing up the inside of his hand. He lifted his shaking palm to the moonlight, watching the red-tinted petals drift off in the wind, a few stubborn hair-like thorns lodged in his palm. He wasn't bleeding badly, but this entire palm was covered in a thin layer of watery blood. He ran his fingers over the thorns once again, trying to come to grips with himself.

He felt… humiliated. Utterly demeaned.

Within a few words, she had broken her way into his mind, made him a fool for even daring to _think _that he even measured up to her. . Though she had shared her story with him, bearing herself entirely to him, he was the one who felt stripped; defenseless; bare. He felt so unreservedly shamed; he had called her wrong, and she still gave him mutual-respect as her answer.

He hated her for it.

With a heartless steeliness, he threw the circlet to the ground, grinding it into the white carpet harshly with the heel of his boot. He got some extra enjoyment of it noticing all the blooms she had chosen to weave into her crown were the youngest buds, all the purest shade of white possible; he watched their innocent color become soiled by his dripping blood and the harsh black-brown of the ground. With a final twist of his ankle, he completely grinded it into the earth, stepping over the crushed peace-offering without another glance. He made his way back down the grey and white glass path, eyes set on the castle, mind set on the hateful feelings swarming in the abscesses of his soul.

Pidoves and Vullabies called out in the distance, but their shrill cries didn't help him to feel any less alone; alone and broken and defenseless in an unforgiving world.

**OOOOOOOOO**

He had woken up the next morning in an outright foul mood, his stomach growling hollowly from missing dinner, his mind still a blurry disarray of distasteful thoughts, messy feelings, and aching memories. He was not quick to rise; there was another war council meeting this morning, however he was not attending the arduous affair. He had an entirely different meeting ahead of him this morn.

Taking time at his leisure, he roused slowly, eating his breakfast without the usual enthusiasm, pushing around his food absentmindedly rather than gobbling it down, and cleansing at an unparalleled slow pace. He fussed not with dressing his best, opting for a simple loose black shirt and straight-legged trousers, combing his hair apathetically with his fingers, slipping his family heirloom in his pocket and his worn black leather boots on his feet before making his way to the outer reaches of the garden.

Placed on the very fringes of the magnificent rainbow labyrinth located in the center of the monochrome spectacle, stood a brick tower made of bricks in richest color of deep brown, the outside completely dedicated to murky pearl-colored marble statues of mythical Pokémon.

It was the Shrine of the Seven Sages, the advisors and spiritual guides of the royal family, and had stood by the castle though all the time it had been there. It had hardly changed since it was erected decades ago, the landscaping and the original statues all the same; even the original Reshiram and Zekrom statues stood proud in their opposite colors at their posts next to the sturdy tea-brown Oakwood door that lead inside the pylon.

He had an appointment with the head sage today, Michelangelo, concerning the heirloom; while he was indeed gracious that he had been allowed to wriggle out of another maddeningly meaningless war meeting, he was still trepidatious about anything that had to do with his official title. The Dark Stone hardly ever reacted to anything he said or did, and he could not even sense its aura of presence half the time; _perhaps I am not truly cut out for this role _he thought to himself far too bitterly often.

However the consolation ridded him of having to face Willamena, who would most certainly be at the meeting today, with his aching shame right now. He approached the Oakwood door, not allowing the trembling in his ankles to pervade the rest of his body, keeping his hand steady as he knocked on the door to the tower.

He had only knocked once, and the door creaked open, revealing a shriveled older man dressed in a shoulder-to-toes, deep purple silk robe, his liver-spotted head adorned with a rounded purple hat that somewhat resembled the tower he lived in.

This man was Virgil, a blind cleric and the sage in second command. "Welcome, Dhiren. Michelangelo has been expecting you. Please, come in." the sage leaned to the side, perfectly aware of where his lord was at all times, though he could not see a thing.

The sages were the only other people in the kingdom allowed to call the royals by their first names, other than the royal family themselves. He had never batted an eyelash at this, preferring the name his mother had chosen for him than his birthright title of lord, or his ordained title of Hero of Ideals.

The tower only had a handful of rooms, four on the main floor where the sages actually lived, and a single chamber at the top of the tower where the majority of the worship happened. This was the rendezvous point for the lord and his sage. Beautiful tapestries lined the slate-gray stone walls of the curved spiral stairwell leading up to the top room, momentarily taking his mind off the dread of the meeting and the thoughts of Willamena. They seemed to depict a full time line of events, starting at the bottom of the stairs where the tapestry as split into solid black and white spaces, a single figure poised in the center; he didn't look too closely, but the figure seemed to have a ring around its middle similar to the Arceus ring insignia, and was surrounded by a ring of multicolored flowers of some sort.

The next several tapestries showed the world being created, sculpted into a perfect paradise for the creatures that in habited it, the Pokémon frolicking gaily in the sunshine stitched in gold on the fronts of the wall-hangings. He scanned the rest of them without much interest until he reached the top of the stairs, where the picture sewn on the silk was one he was very familiar with; the drapery was once again split into solid black and white right down the middle, only each half was stitched in the opposite color with an image of the original Heroes and their perspective dragons. He ran his finger over the elegantly-stitched, clean-cut face of his father next to the might of his avatar, Zekrom. He could not help but feel in his father's shadow, even though it had been long since the man had passed; still, the people expected greatness from him, and it involved awakening his counterpart.

He tore himself away from the wall-hanging, completing the climb to the head sage's quarters in a matter of four stairs, taking them two at a time. He threw open the door to the room without knocking; the blue-haired sage within didn't even lift his face from his bowed stance to look up at the entering lord. He watched with mild interest as the youngest sage mumbled a few more words to himself before lighting a stick of incense with the help of his Magmar. The sage turned to him then, carrying with him the scent of today's incense: balsam, an incense used to promote healing, clearing, and protection; a scent honoring Reshiram.

_"Mag margmar!" _

"Dhiren, you're not at all on time…" Michelangelo started, attempting to be stern but failing as a small flicker of a familiar smile pulled at his lips "... which is so very much like you." The sage was by far the youngest of all seven, only being twenty-eight while many of the other sages were nearing their sixties and seventies; however, he had a connection with the spiritual side of people that not one other person in the entire region could match, and therefore was made the head sage. He tugged at his low-hanging ponytail, reaffixing the gilded silver beret towards the end of his streams of deep blue hair. The shade of blue almost perfectly matched his robes, which were only a few shades lighter; he did not wear his hat. He gestured his lord closer, asking Magmar to light a few candles for him as he readied himself with a quill and a sheet of papyrus paper.

_"Maaaaaag." _It chirped, blowing small flames over the three white candles set out in a triangle pattern. It returned to Michelangelo's side, receiving a gentle pat on the head by its master.

"Come, my lord, let us discuss of your… heirloom."

**OOOOOOOOO**

Sometime later, he came storming out of the sages' worship chamber, absolutely livid. He simply flung open the door and had been gone, not even looking back to see if he closed the door to the sacred sanctum or not. Boiling in blind fury, he thundered down the spiral staircase leading down to the bottom level of the tower. He wanted to rip down the silken tapestries mocking him with their cheerful images as he passed. He stalked by Virgil without another glance, throwing open the door with all his might and stomping outside into the blustery wind. The door to the pylon shut behind him with a gentle click instead of the thunderous slam he wanted, enraging him further.

Clutched in his hand was the Dark Stone, gleaming cold and lifeless in his clenched fingers, acting completely unknowing to the anger and strife it was causing.

He wanted to throw it in the pond; he wanted to bury it so far beneath the cheerily mocking rainbow flowerbeds for far no one would ever be able to find it again; he wanted to set it on fire and watch it burn with a malicious smile on his face and a mind free of responsibility and regret. He could do none of these things though.

Zekrom… hadn't recognized him as worthy yet. The Dark Stone refused to respond to anything he had done to it, no matter how much spiritual reconciling he did or praying or honoring. As far as he was concerned, he was not meant to unleash his dragon, and this would ultimately be the nail in his coffin; without his dragon, he was as powerless as any common villager, unable to do battle and a laughing stock to all other dignitaries. He could wave farewell to his shot at the throne, to his shot to avoid war with Ransei.

And he was utterly furious about it.

A loud boom of thunder rumbled overhead, stirring up the congealing gray masses of low-hanging cumulus clouds and making them swirl forebodingly. Grays of every tone streaked across the sky, deep dark slate greys, silvery shimmering grays; grays so light they borderlined white, and grays so dark they borderlined black. The first chilling drops of rain hit him on the head, sending an involuntary shiver down his spine from the sharp cold.

He tipped his head up, watching as the rain started to come down harder, the first trickles of precipitation being replaced by the stinging pounding of a thunderstorm. The water soaked through his hair and clothes, leaving him feeling chilled all the way down to his toes. A zagged bolt of lightning arched its way across the sky, sending a bright flash of blue streaking across the stormy heavens. More lightning fizzled and cracked in the distance, bringing a grim smile to his lips.

He had never been afraid of lightning, or storms in general for that matter. The jagged colors and bright flashes dazzled him, and the thought that one day he would control their very master made him even less frightened. He sometimes fantasized about flying through the great lightning storms, reaching his fingers out to rake the almost tangible magic that was the lightning, feeling the demoralizing forces of nature with his own fingers, wielding it at his command.

Chuckling darkly to himself, he quelled the ridiculous childish fantasies floating about his head, focusing back on the real world. He was going to storm back to the castle to continue his fit, but he found himself closing his eyes, enjoying the feeling of the frigid water running through his bangs and dripping down his face; it started to cool the raging fire of denial and hate within him, taking the edge off his sharpened stance. He was getting goose bumps from the cold, and he welcomed it.

"Ren? What are you doing out in the rain?" a gentle voice emanated from in front of him.

Tipping his head back forward, he readied himself to snap at some meddlesome guard, but found his cousin standing in front of him, snow-white hair sticking to his face from the pounding rain. The face Akiren wore stole the rest of the momentarily refueled anger from his body, making him slump in a way he had always been told not to unless he wanted a paddling. Akiren had one of those faces that was just gentle by nature, one that always looked like he was worried about someone else, thinking about someone else; a face that one could never practice, only be born with. His cousin's blue-flame eyes were just like his father's, Dhiren's uncle's, only they seemed incapable of showing any malice or evil, completely _unlike _his father's; they had widened upon seeing him standing in the rain.

"Ren…. You will catch a cold and end up troubling the maids again with your fussiness. You should be more careful…" his cousin pulled at the buttons of his shirt-coat, the silver snaps falling away it reveal the light grey silk top beneath; Akiren had then swung the coat around his shoulders, buttoning the first few with sharp _snaps_ so that it stayed on. He stood back with a smile, the rain starting to soak through his thin shirt, sticking to his chest and arms. The long silver-white strands of his hair were starting to stick to his shirt now; he wasn't wearing it in a braid, letting it run its full length down his back past his thighs. He could only imagine how bad it would be to brush out later; his cousin had an ungodly amount of hair.

His shivering had quelled, thanks to the insolating Swanna down feathers stuffed within the lining of the shirt-coat. He was starting to warm, but wasn't any happier in the least bit. He gave his cousin a cynical frown "Akiren, stop it. You're the one who will get sick, and you're no better than me when it comes to dealing with the chills."

The last time Akiren had been sick was some time ago, though it had been absolute hades for everyone involved; Akiren was normally prim and diplomatic, but when it came to stuffy noses and stomach aches, he knuckled down and became a gargantuan pain about it.

"Oh, Ren, I supposed that is right…" his cousin smiled, messing with a long strand of his bands that had attached itself to his cheek. His cousin's smile was still gentle, making him cringe despite the warmth from it trying to crawl its way into him and relax his cold-tense muscles. "But I digress. I'd find it much more comforting to see you happy, or at the very least warm." He stuck his hands in his pockets, giving him his signature full-face-encompassing grin; his cousin had only just lost his last childhood tooth, the frontal-most one on the left side. It had come in perfectly straight and white.

Hearing his nickname still brought a smile to his face despite the stern appearance he was trying to keep; it was a nickname Akiren had had for him since they were children, and he utterly despised it when anyone other than his cousin used it. He felt it was mocking and unbefitting for anyone other than family to know about it, much less actually use it, though almost no one knew about it. He was starting to warm up, from the inside this time, but the lifelessly cold object still clutched in his grasp stopped the warmth from spreading any further. His face became pinched and harsh again, making Akiren widen his eyes again.

"How did the consolation go, Ren? Was it… a satisfactory outcome?" his cousin asked with a tentativeness that he immediately recognized that was only reserved for him when he was on edge; everyone treated him like a tempersome child, ready to snap at any moment and throw a tantrum. Only half the time, instead of a tantrum, he'd just rather gore them through the stomach like a fat Pignite with his sword.

"Zekrom… wants nothing to do with me. The sage says nothing has changed since the last time we spoke." He spat, tasting the venom in his own words. The fingers clutching at the stone were starting to hurt from being tensed up in agony for so long.

A shadow overtook his cousin's face, smothering the adoringly worried look and replacing it with one of melancholyness. Akiren withdrew his hand from his pocket, and the round form of the clear white Light Stone was juggled between his fingers. "Reshiram has not spoken with me in some time either." His face still wore a smile, but he could tell his cousin was losing a battle within himself right now; they both sought to reawaken their dragons, and neither was making any progress. The region was in an eternal state of vulnerability while neither of its protectors were present, especially with Ransei already making moves along the borders.

Akiren stuck out his tongue, holding out the hand holding the Light Stone to his cousin "Perhaps we should switch stones then. Maybe that'll make some headway."

He snorted at this blatant insolence, shoving his own stone in his pocket, burying it as far as he could in its black depths. "That is not funny in the least bit, Akiri." He called his cousin by his own nickname he had given him, recalling that he only used it when he was mocking him, though he wasn't exactly sure Akiren knew this. He sighed; he wasn't angry at Akiren, and he didn't want to pound all is anger out on his innocent cousin who was trying to make him feel better. He bit his tongue to keep from spiting any more venom towards his cousin, daring to touch the Dark Stone hidden within his pocket for a moment before pulling away and grimacing.

He strutting off down the path his cousin was blocking, slightly nudging him aside so he could get though and trying to keep a calm and indifferent face. A strand of his cousin's hair ruffled against his face was he stalked by, tickling his cheek. He did not look back as he splashed through the gathering puddles dotted about the path, the thunder and lightning above his only companions.

He trekked through the gardens for a while, wandering aimlessly through the dimmed rainbow spirals of the labyrinth located in the center of the gardens. All the formerly colorful flowers and trees had been dyed a darker shade in the storm, greens fading to a grey tone and fierce reds becoming the lazy tones of healing scratches.

He continued on, stomping through the mud, having abandoned the multicolored marbled path in favoring the lush green grass in hopes he could just lose himself out here; he wasn't in much of a mood to be fussed over right now, much less actually see people. The shame of the fact he was unworthy of his dragon added to the fact that he was still furious with Willamena had made him incredibly unsocial; how awful it was going to be when some catty, gossipy maid found out about the meeting with the sage and spread it around to all the rest of the castle.

Brown and green colored Whimsicotts huddled under the huge leaves of elephant ferns, a few stray black and blue colored ones sticking out in the fluffy masses.

Pairs of Vulpix and Elekid had dug shallow burrows under the canopies of rocks, seeking shelter from the pounding rain above.

Joltik skittered frantically across his path through the drunken grass, sending little electrical charges through the grass and spouting sparks as the rain danced on their electrical skin.

A Skitty dove for the shelter of a tree hollow only to find it was already filled with a chattering Pachirisu family that didn't seem to inclined to share; she mewed dismally, waddling on her unsure-footed waterlogged paws in an attempt to find a place to take cover from the rain. She slipped in the slick grass, her claws useless for griping to the muddy ground, and fell right on top of his foot, looking up at him with wide eyes, shivering from cold and fear. He wiggled his toes in his boots, making her fur prickle up in a defensive edge. He scowled down at her.

With a sigh, he picked her up, battening down her clubbed pink tail so's she could not attempt to attack him with it. After a quick look round, he lifted her high into the safety of a near-by wisteria tree, placing her quivering form underneath a thick patch of canopy; she still shivered under his touch, but he hoped it was just from the cold now. The chalk-purple wisteria flowers dotted about the tree were drenched, water dragging their petals down in such a way they seemed to melt off the branches. He snapped the closest cluster off the branch above Skitty, tossing them aside so they wouldn't drip on her.

It was hard attempting to do it with one hand, but he successfully undid the buttons to Akiren's shirt-coat, draping it over Skitty and tucking it around her so she could be warm. He didn't think Akiren would mind too much if his coat got dirty and wet if going to a good cause; and besides, he had at least three more of this exact same jacket, so it was no loss on his part.

Skitty nestled in happily, giving him a thankful Cheshire- smile and a short chirp of indecipherable Pokémon-speak. He patted her on her head returning her smile; he suspected she was thanking him. He had never been gifted with the ability to raise a Pokémon of his own, so to make up for it, he extensively studied every single Pokémon that lived within a hundred miles of the castle, and even then some. There was not one Pokémon that had escaped his attention, and whenever he had the chance he made time to try and study them up close. He got to be much more yielding and soft-hearted around them; a side of himself he could never be allowed to show to the other subjects.

He was the heartlessly cruel one after all.

With a final pat, he turned away, allowing Skitty to situate herself however she pleased without an audience. He continued wandering though the gardens, his boots slipping a bit in the tractionless grass; an unsettling chill had started to perch over him again, now that the coat was gone. It hadn't bothered him though; he did rather enjoy the sting to the pelting rain and impersonal cold. Cold didn't favor anyone over another; all were affected by its chillingly icy fingers. It reminded him of his place in the world.

He kicked over a befallen mud-brown sapling, the frail branches breaking easily under his heavy leather boots. The sprout crashed to the ground, its scrawny roots flailing about in the air for something to anchor it back to its warm rooted home as the plant tipped over.

A trio of Farfetch'd dashed from a nearby bush, frightened by the sound, taking off into the air in short, spaztic glides. They teetered on their waterlogged, dusty brown wings to another safe haven, away from the scary tree-crushing monster he was. He chuckled; the same part of him that brimmed with inquisitive curiosity for the creatures also sheltered the same enjoyment of their peril just as he had for his subjects. And he didn't feel the slightest bit of remorse for it; it was who he was made to be.

He kicked aside the floundering sapling, taking a few steps down the overgrown path that was lined with twisted skeletons of diseased trees that the sapling had rooted itself into. It had probably been trying to leech off the last dying remains of the trees. It was a parasite, and he felt better killing it then letting it destroy his grotto. He sighed contently as the familiar scents of wet wood and fragrant dead flowers drifted past him.

The rugged stone path the sapling had been blocking led off to a Hidden Grotto that most had forgotten all about; it had been closed off for years, and it had never really been used for much in the first place, so it had just faded to the blank areas of the minds of the castle inhabitants until it became nonexistent altogether. But to him, the forgotten hollow was sanctuary.

It was little more than an overgrown field of weeds now; the trees had long ago withered away, due to the fact that the grotto had been covered in rubble from what had apparently been a shrine of some sort many years ago. The rubble had fallen now, blanketing the ground like broken stone play-things a child had grown bored of. Scraggly grasses swiped at his heels, despite being saturated with water, and resilient thorny bushes threatened to dig their barbs into him. He took his time walking through the pointed landscape, the loneliness of the forgotten shrine helping to ease his own feelings of rejection. They were one in the same in a way; something people would just rather completely forget about. And, just like this collapsed relic, it wasn't even entirely his fault.

A sharp crunch shook him from his pessimistic musings enough to go on the defensive; no one came here unless they sought something, and as far as he knew, there was nothing to be found here other than the consolation of another lonely being. Withdrawing his jet black, pure-obsidian dagger from beneath his shirt, he held it at the ready peering around an obstructive chunk of what appeared to be a crushed altar of some sort. Taking in a sharp, chilled breath, he lunged out from behind the rubble, landing in a perfect stance to swipe at the intruder.

Her ebony eyes widened in such a way he could have never fathomed they could; she was always calm and collected, and now she just bore the look of a terrified Mareep caught by a ravenous Mightyena. Willamena took a startled step back, losing her footing on a slick plane of half-crushed marble. She teetered on her dainty toes for a moment, and unconsciously he made a lunge for her waist to catch her. Just as she began to fall backwards, his mind snapped back into cognizance, and he retracted his arm back to his side, and she fell to a puddle on the ground. He staggered backwards, trying to steel his spine to keep him upright again, but sinking back into the reprimandable slump he had had minutes ago. A startled Eevee fled from the bushes, trouncing over Willamena in its hurry and covering his leather boots in a layer of gravely mud.

Willamena sat there on the ground for a moment, eyes still wide in surprise from both that fall and the trouncing, palms lifted to the feeble light still streaming through the clouds to see that they had become red and slightly raw from the tumble. She sniffed at them, pushing them under herself and rising to a stiff standing, like she had been swathed in a rigid corset holding her ramrod straight. She clutched something in her fingers, but it was hidden from view in the folds of her pearlescent aqua cloak that covered her from head to heels.

She was wearing another white dress, only this time it was strapless, hugging her tiny frame, and was trimmed along the overlapped neckline with an aqua similar to that of her cloak. Her dress and cloak were now both spotted by black mud.

"Dhiren? My… lord?" Willamena blinked slowly, seeming to still attempt to understand what had just happened.

He sniffed, slipped his dagger back into its sheath hidden beneath his shirt, tied around his waist by a thin leather strap. He took an extra step back, trying to put as much unnoticeable distance betwixt the two of them as possible.

"Why are you here? How did you find it?" he kept his voice mellow, though the defensive-reflex for a man to protect his territory was attempting to override his efforts to stay in control.

Willamena batted a dewy eyelash, her eyes being drawn back to her hands; he still couldn't see whatever the item she was clasping at us though. "I had heard of a Hidden Grotto that housed a shrine to the old gods located within the gardens, so rather than bother you with such a tedious task, I set out to find it myself." She spoke completely firm, like she had as much right as anyone to be here. This was not her sanctuary though.

"Leave. Now." He spoke through tight lips, fury toiling below the surface so fiery, he was sure he had a rosy hue from it dusted over his face.

Willamena peeled her gaze from her hands hidden from view, and turned to look at the flat base of the crumbled shrine; it was the only solid piece left to tell the tale of what it was once, whatever that was. "I found this field, and I was sure there was nothing growing here but weeds, but I found a flower here. It seemed to bend in my direction." She lifted her hand up, cupping her other one around the blossom in her fingers like protecting a child from falling. The flower had five-pointed and exotic-looking, being an unnatural shade of pure white lined with streaks of a dangerous dark black that seemed to seethe with some withheld grudge imprisoned in the sea of white surrounding it. It was a flower completely unfamiliar to him, and this was unnatural. He was well read; there was hardly a time when he did not know what something was.

Willamena did a light twirl on her toes, sauntering over to a hexagon-shaped broken column of some sort. Her skin was turning a dollish shade of princess pink from the cold; with a pink-tipped finger, she pointed at something inscribed in the column. He leaned closer, daring to get near enough to smell her scent; she smelled like a water lily in bloom during an April shower.

Upon closer inspection, the flower in Willamena's fingers was near identical to the one etched in the pillar. This puzzled him even more. With a sudden swiftness, a painful uprising was lifted from his lungs into his throat, making him sneeze loudly. His lungs burned from the cold.

He wrenched himself to a standing, about to question Willamena further, but her hand reached out again, the hand bearing the alien flower. She gently clasped at his wrist, placing the coiled stem of the flower in his palm. "This is called the White Oblivion Flower. Consumed raw, it is very poisonous, but when boiled, it can produce a lovely fragrant tea that can cure any ailment." She offered him a gentle smile, leaning a touch closer. "I believe you will be in need of this."

His fingers wavered for a moment; they were threatening to disobey him again, but he held firm. He was strong enough to care for himself on his own, and he didn't require the repugnant sympathies of a wily child who was outstepping her bounds. He could almost feel the pure white flower starting to crumble in his hand, the tips turning an ashy brown, the lovely plant starting to whither under his seething indignity. He ripped his hand away from hers, taking care to allow the flower to be pummeled by the merciless rain to the ground, where it flattened and seemed to wave its white petals in submission.

"I cannot even begin to imagine how such a repulsive thing could have become part of this garden, much less give you permission to intrude upon my own asylum. I have no care if these ruins mean a thing to you, and you should have stayed away." The cold rain pelted down on him, but it wasn't their physical cold he was feelings, it was something else altogether; the cold was that of a foreboding storm. And suddenly, he didn't care if she had invaded upon his haven; he just wanted to be as far away from her as he could. If he could have put the impassive Desert Resort between them, he would have.

"Your sympathies mean nothing to me as well." he turned on heel once again, storming away from the silver girl who had begun to wilt under the pressure of his words. She had retraced her hand back to her side, and her head dipped and her face fell. Her mouth became strung tight and impassive, her hair even seeming to lose some of its luster.

"I'm sorry to have imposed, _my lord. _I will not tamper with your grotto again, nor with my god's shrine."

He almost turned around; _almost. _

He was too blinded by windswept rain and malice though, so he kept charging forward, leaving her to wither in the cold. She had set his teeth on edge soul was deep, dark, and completely impenetrable; and he wanted it to stay that way. The darkness that gripped him was his own birthright, and the day the Reverse world froze over would be the day he'd forgive her for even a moment of trying to make him think differently. Her attempts to break him wouldn't succeed again.

* * *

***Sigh* this took an awful long time to write -.- I am sorry. Also its super long... double sorry. I really do love writing this story, its so different from my regular story, Pokegirl, but its still a ton of fun. It is a touch hard trying to change the lingo up from Mina's street talk to Dhiren and Willamena's diplomatic speech *laugh* Ah well, its part of the fun.  
**

**So... next time... the third part in this whatever-part story: we find out a terrible secret, as well as a secret desire worth killing for~  
**

**XD**


	3. Part III- Of Secrets and Desires

He did end up getting sick.

Full on pounding headaches, shivers, chills, runny nose, the whole gamut; it got so dreadful to the point that he had almost started wishing he had taken that damned flower from Willamena back in the grotto. Almost.

This added to the rest of the unsavory drama going on, next weeks pasted sluggishly and rotten. After the scene in the grotto, Willamena was… off. She didn't seem to shine as much; she didn't ask about continuing the garden tour; she hardly said anything to him at all. Her diplomatic demeanor took over her entire personality, and the taciturn ambassador began to rear her head more often. She spoke it him as little as possible, and when she did, it was usually about notes from a war meeting or to excuse herself or something of the like.

While he wasn't at all surprised at this behavior, he didn't quite relish in it as much as he had thought he would. But to his relief, it also freed him from having to fight off his conscience animated by her sage words; he pushed it to the back of his mind and let it fester, becoming the bored drone he was before she even came into his life. Days drifted in and out like they had before; he lost track of the time so easily again, he would find himself staring off into space for hours on end.

What he expected to be static and icy, meals shared between the three of them, him, Akiren, and Willamena, were actually light and conversable, Akiren and Willamena doing most of the talking. They spoke happily to each other, their subjects of interest floating from topic to topic freely, changing on a daily basis. Some nights they talked of boorish diplomatic business and war, and other nights of childhood or the wide arrays of subjects they had studied. Though he tried his hardest to simply ignore their babble, he found himself listening to their conversing, repeating each thing she said in his mind and letting it stick there. He found out simple things like that she enjoyed riding and disliked reading, though she was very well learned.

He would then promptly mentally slap himself upside the head and curtly excuse himself from the table. This would cause Akiren to glance at him worryingly; he could feel his cousin's blue flame eyes on the back of his head as he would stalk off to wherever he was off to pout to. Later those nights, Akiren would usually come visit him some time later and they would spend some time together in the library, toting a tray of fragrant lavender tea and promises for a lighter mood; the library was a sanctuary for the both of them that was thankfully not wet and wouldn't attracted Willamena's attention.

The library was a large rounded room placed on the one of the lower levels of the castle, and was furnished entirely in crimson; the walls were draped in the luxurious velvet fabric, the windows covered with silken red draperies tied up with black ribbons, the loveseats and settees all a deep maroon color and overflowing with Caterpie-silk, red pillows with braided golden tassels. The bookshelves were the only furnishing that weren't red in the room; they were a deep dark shade of brown, and reached from floor to the ceiling thirty feet above.

He found the plush settee in the middle of the room perched next to a squat shelf of scientific journals perfect for his lounging, the elegantly curved form of the settee resembling a violin. It was the perfect shade of a decaying rafflesia flower and smelled like the lavender tea that he had spilled on it countless times over the years.

He would often simply recline against the plush pillows of his perch, staring at the ceiling and musing to himself. Akiren would usually sit across from him on a plump red pillow, seated on the floor, whatever book he was reading propped up on the low-sitting wooden slab set in front of his cousin's settee. Akiren had an acute taste for the magical and mythical, reading head-thick books about other regions' legends or frivolous fairytales about dainty princess and heroic Pokémon; he personally preferred reference books on the Pokémon of the world or on the various classes of flora. He had read almost every reference book in their library at least once, and books were carted in on a weekly basis when he went on a reading streak, devouring every book in sight.

They would sit in silence most times, but the comfort of knowing each other were there was enough to help alleviate his raging thoughts and put him at ease. Some nights Akiren would set himself up on the settee and have him lay his head in his lap, and would read from a random book out loud, like they used to when they were children. He would always feel strange doing this, but Akiren never minded, and would happily allow him to rest his head in his lap. Thankfully there was no one else usually in the library at late at night when they would relax in there, saving him from the embarrassment of getting caught in such a queer position. There was more than one occasion when he actually fell asleep on Akiren's lap listening to his melodic voice talk about dragon Pokémon or a princess with silver hair.

It was one of those occasions.

(And looking back on it now, as he was dangling dangerously over the edge of this Zekrom-forsaken abyss, it had been the last time one of those 'occasions' had taken place.)

He opened his eyes. His mind felt blurry and fuzzy, feeling like he had run it through a fresh pallet water color paints. With a half-yawn-half-growl, he forced his sleep-stiffened body to uncurl from the position he had been fitfully resting in. He rolled over on his back, letting his back and neck crack as he shifted, readjusting himself to be most comfortable. His body sunk into the plush settee, and he stared blankly at the ceiling as his eyes tried to readjust to being open again; the first things that formed were the white square-paneled ceiling, and then the velvet runner-covered tops of the nearest bookshelves, and then the soft curls of white hair draped across him. His gaze drifted up and he saw the hovering, sleeping face of Akiren resting on the arm of the settee. He was breathing lightly, eyes fluttering a bit as he dreamed. His alabaster blanket of hair had covered the both of them; the curls tickled his nose.

His heart lurched. With a grunt, he forced his rigid body up, carefully avoiding Akiren's head so they wouldn't smash heads. Cracking his neck again, his eyes drifted back to his cousin sleeping on the sofa. Akiren's face was just as gentle in sleep as it was when it was awake; if anything, he seemed even gentler and innocent, the corners of his mouth pulled up slightly like he was amused. It was charming that he smiled in his sleep.

He grunted again, rising to a shaky standing, his feet sinking into the rug underneath the settee threatening to betray him and allow him to fall back onto the settee and return to his empty dreams. He steadied himself on the table, experimenting with a few cautious steps before falling into his normal rhythm of walking, though he did his best to tip-toe. Akiren was a notoriously light sleeper, and would spring awake at the sound of someone's nose whistling if they breathed.

Thankfully, Akiren seemed completely submersed in whatever he was dreaming about right now, and didn't so much as stir as he made his way to the door. With a click, the white and gold-gilded door slipped back into place without any sign of rousing from his cousin. He sighed in relief.

He started to creep down the hallway, the light from the torches guiding his way back to the floor his chamber was on; the library was on the second floor, his bedchamber was on the fifth. He found himself shuffling along slowly, enjoying the cold solitude of the empty corridors of the castle. He was barefoot, and the cold marble beneath his feet made his toes numb up. He thought about going back to the library and retrieving his boots, but feared he would wake Akiren, so he quickly abandoned the idea. Akiren would be upset to wake up and find he was not there, but he decided to be selfish.

Both of their parents had died when they were both quite young, however it affected Akiren more severely than it had him. He had always had such shaky relations with his father and the queen, and had for the latter years some unspoken agreement that they were only to speak to each other when it came to public matters and such. The queen had always been lukewarm to him anyway, but it did sting a bit that his own father often refused to look at him; Akiren's family was entirely different. They used to sleep together huddled in the same bed every night, with Akiren snuggled right in the middle. Akiren's mother had a Cinccino named Elise that would snuggle with them as well, completing the foursome of white. When their parents died, Akiren was left in an utterly broken position, sad and alone; he had fared much better, the disconnection between him and his parents a sort of safety net for him. However, Akiren's lonesomeness likely aided in their bond growing as strong as it had, though somewhere along the way he became the stronger of the two cousins and began to stand on his own.

Akiren shouldered most of the duties they were supposedly both to share, and exhausted himself on a daily basis just trying to keep this kingdom running smoothly; he was just the kind who was content to work for the happiness of others without a single though about himself, and this was the reason he wanted to attend to most of the duties, or so he speculated about his cousin. He longed to smile at his cousin's selfless conduct, but all he could manage was a grimace. It was another one of the ways he felt inferior to Akiren; he wasn't selfless. He was selfish; greedy; cold; offensive. He was that hideous mistake in the perfect family bloodline everyone knew but would rather forget about; the spot on the family tree someone would eventually blacken out one day.

_Crssh._

His head snapped up at the subtle noise; it had been barely louder than a whisper. He stopped in place, holding his breath and waiting to see if it happened again. It hadn't. A wisp of suspicion darted around him as he tentatively took a step forward just to see if it has he who had made the noise. His bare foot hit the cold, solid ground with no reaction; he dared a breath, to see if it was that which had made the noise. Again, all was completely silent.

He then knew immediately what he was dealing with.

Moving as little as possible, he turned his head, taking such care so that not even his hair rustled as he moved. The corridor he had wandered down; he knew it well. It looked out over the garden labyrinth through gaping spider-web windows, and only had one room because it was biggest guest room in the castle and was only used for other visiting dignitaries:

Willamena's floor.

He hadn't even realized what he was doing, and now he had ended up exactly parallel to her door, the noise from within dragging him away from his tactless lamenting.

He crept up to the door, placing a single hand on its surface and leaning closer, resting his ear on the solid wood. The doors had been made so that sound wouldn't traverse easily between the rooms, but up this close, there was little the room could hide from him. Absolute _silence_ from within. This caused the hairs on the back of his neck to flick upward, his fingers and toes squeezing up in tension. This door wouldn't be safe to go through; he'd have to use the _other_ way.

Without moving an inch from where his feet were firmly planted, his hand began to scour the walls, fingers dancing over the bricks looking for _just _the right one. And then, he felt it; it was slightly more concave than the rest of the wall, and if one wriggled their finger in the one-inch gab just so… the passage slid open.

It was as silent as he was, the well-greased chains and mechanisms never having the chance to go stiff. The passage opened up a few feet away from the door, towards the back-most western side of Willamena's chambers. He slid along the wall, taking a step into the dark portal and venturing through the solid brick wall. The passage was so irregularly used that dust had not even had the chance to build up; he was grateful for this, as any indication from the swirling masses that he was there might have spelled disaster.

The other side of the passage was hidden quietly in the back of the chambers, hidden strategically in well-placed shadows, so that even one looking at it straight on from the other side of the room would not be able to locate it clearly.

He kept himself concealed to the shadows are he crept into the room, eyes on the magnificent apricot and cream canopy bed in which a silver princess lie. He was suddenly struck by her eerie beauty again, wanting to scold himself for it being the most unfortunate of times to be beaten with such inane thoughts, but still he couldn't help tracing his eyes over her curled body; the endless silver hair blanketing her, her perfect white skin, the subtle movements of her chest breathing the exposed birthmark on her neck; she was alien, other worldly, stunning. And strangely he wasn't reeling with lust for her. He just was taken by her and wanted nothing more than to watch the silver girl slumber.

And then he was hit by salt. The smell of sea salt. The smell of harbor towns, and fishing docks and wild salt water rivers churning up into waterfalls brimming with plethora of fish Pokémon; and this was wrong.

Willamena always smelled like fresh cut flowers; roses, magnolias, daisies, lilies, dahlias; but not salt.

His gaze roamed from her dollish form to glance over the room. The window was open, the chilled night air blowing freely through the apricot-colored satin curtains and giving a subtle nip to the room.

He sniffed; the smell of salt was still strong. He grinned darkly; _two_ mistakes.

Two mistakes an assassin should never make: leaving evidence of entry, and breaking the all crucial code of silence. And now, as another figure began to form in the shadows of the canopy bed, it looked like there was a third.

His hair was pulled back into a spiked tail, monochrome black and white hair swept back entirely so that his chiseled face had a clear view of his work; even if he hadn't seen the rippling blue and gold sari-style tunic with Dewgong fur accents and seashell-riveted pants, the telltale grey ripple markings on his collar bone gave him away; his warrior tattoo was curled up like a wave, symbolizing relentlessness.

Mistake number three: never let yourself be seen exposed.

"What do you think you're doing?"

The shadowy head snapped up, almost tumbling back into the curtains of the bed. He floundered into the light, and the full extent of him came into sight, long-ago stretched scars, Wailmer-bone dagger, and all. The assassin regained his footing with precision, lining up his Seel-hide boots back under him and steadying himself. The assassin's emerald green eyes stared into his, and he stared back; relentless as a wave.

"I asked you a question, filth. Why is a Fountaine assassin in my castle? Speak! 'Fore I have the guards called upon to drag your miserable corpse away." He kept his tone even, though on the inside he was seething in a mixture of true curiosity for the man's sudden appearance and with anger for the overall situation. He still didn't step into the full light of the moon casting its shadow through the bay windows; he knew he wouldn't have to for the assassin to recognize him.

The Fountaine assassin chuckled, lowering his scrimshaw dagger to his side, almost putting it away in its leather sheath before thinking better of it. "My lord Dhiren. How unexpected. It's not often you get interrupted by a royal when you're just doing a duty for their country." The assassin did a half bow, whether to mock or be genuine, he was unsure. This man did not fear him, nor his authority; this was clear.

"You have no business targeting her. She has nothing to do with this pathetic war. Leave at once! I _will_ send for the guards." He growled, all attempts to keep his head level swept away by this infuriating man's causality with him; he was not an equal to this filth; he was a lord, and he could do whatever he wished to with his rightful power.

"I'm not playing biased here, my lord. I'm only following direct orders from Motochika. He said this girl was a threat to our advances. She needs to die." The Fountaine assassin ran his hand up the handle of the dagger, toying with the edges of the knife; Fountaine daggers were sharpened on both sides, making for a disturbingly lethal weapon. The assassin's eyes kept going back to Willamena's form, though he was not hunched in pleasure like a feral creature enjoying the kill; more like a hopelessly obedient Growlithe told to sit and stay while a piece of raw meat was waved in front of its muzzle: a little stricken and lost.

"But if I know you at all my lord, I am quite sure you won't call the guards. You would rather deal with it yourself, hmm?" the assassin rasped. His voice was scratchy and fading due to years of salt and sea grit, though he seemed young enough.

He sniffed; he most certainly would not call the guards just so they could take away his fun, though he had hoped the bluff would have been able to drive the assassin away.

He growled again "I said leave. Be gone! You… shall not kill her." He was trying desperately to hold back any other thoughts other than getting rid of this man, but the anger he was displaying and the furious thoughts thrashing through his mind were not solely for the intruder, he realized with a sickened lurch of his heart; the anger was directed at Willamena as well.

After all, she had toyed with his heart and played him for a fool, taking his unyielding self-confidence and making a complex origami sculpture out of it. His hands curled into fists, the memory of her kneeing him in the nose speeding back to him; all the times she had disrespected him, all the times she had mocked him outright; she had treated him like dirt. Why _didn't_ she deserve to die? He would have seen to it much sooner, had other things not have been in the way. So… why just not…_ let_ him…?

The assassin had then smiled, a feral display of blunt brutality he would not wish upon anyone, though he was so transfixed he could not look away. The assassin's fangs spoke softly to him, lulling his frantic mind into listening to their fiendish words.

"Ponder this yourself for a moment, my lord. Think of the advantages to this situation. If I killed her now, wouldn't it be just the perfect opportunity for the God itself to show up and pacify this conflict? You could get your wish, having the very word of the all-powerful God Pokémon on your side. Make up any story you wish about how it happened, as long as you are left to reap the rewards. You could seize the throne in one fell swoop; your cousin swept aside and put in his place. The war will be over, Ransei safe, and the very thing that angers you now will finally pay for all she has done to you. It's revenge, without the price of having to dirty your hands while doing it."

The fangs went quite for a moment and the bone dagger was withdrawn into the moonlight again. "You see, you benefit from this much more than Motochika will. You get your revenge, and you get your ideal." The man smirked, his purposely sharpened fangs and shadowed face giving him the very manifestation of the famed fiend-dragon Giratina itself; a demon in the shadows, promising a pact with the devil.

The deal.

His revenge.

It was painless. There was no way to connect the two. He had severed all ties with Ransei long ago. There was no junction; no trail. He would win.

He had won.

He sighed.

The assassin seemed to visibly relax with his submission. The tantalizing sensation of freedom had passed through the both of them, the momentary link between the two estranged men seeming to settle the worn nerves and frenzied air; specks seemed to float through the air less rapidly, the moon's glow a torch in the dark hallway of their minds instead of a spotlight on their malevolent deeds. The room sighed in relief; Willamena still laid quietly in her bed. Her breathing had hallowed and was now completely void of personality and beauty. She had truly became a doll; a being as simple to be broken as a single snap of the wrist.

"Motochika holds many more temptations for you, my lord. This is but a small prize on a road lined with riches of every kind leading to ultimate glory. You can sleep well, knowing the troublesome girl will be no-

"-more?"

The assassin tried to sputter more meaninglessly tempting words, but his speech became garbled as a dark stream of midnight-colored-crimson blood forced its way over the bridge of his lips. The Fountaine man tried to move, but was shocked stony once he saw the stainless black dagger sticking out from his stomach, hidden perfectly in his own cast shadow.

He didn't twist the knife; no, he was getting enough enjoyment out of just watching this pathetic creature crumble in front of him. The young man was now bleeding profusely through the knife-slit gap in his stomach, as well as the crimson lodged in his throat pushing its brutal way through his lips. The shocked look had gone away, and now he just looked puzzled; it was a great pleasure to him to explain himself.

He leaned close, ruffling up the assassin's black roots at the back of his neck as he positioned his mouth right above his ear, so not a single, tortured word would be lost. "I have better things to do than bargain with a man I would have killed regardless. Your promises might be shiny, but I have more use for her alive than dead. You on the other hand…" he chuckled, and could feel the assassin tense up at the insidious shadows lurking within it, "are very, _very _expendable." He retracted his dagger from the man's stomach, getting another dose of fiendish adrenaline in hearing him moan in fear.

"Like I said, you will not _kill _her. I will do it myself if it comes to it." he leaned away from the Fountaine assassin; without his support, the young man collapsed to his knees, breathing hard and gasping with the relentless pain he knew the dagger had inflicted; it was a Fountaine dagger, sharp as a Zangoose's claws on both sides. It was the only gift he had ever received from his mother.

"Oh, and you should feel honored. You are the first to have died by my ebony blade. It's made from the hard black-bone spines of a rare purple Kingdra, and like all Fountaine weapons, sharpened to a razor's hair on each side… "

The man didn't reply, though he seemed to have been working through the pain as he readied for his last breaths on this earth. A dripping smile had slithered across his face, which was turning from a perfectly gold tan to a lifeless pale teak as he spoke in a remarkably clear voice.

"Dhiren… you are your father's son. Yet, you betray your country for a girl. When I am lost, no one will mourn, and you do not even know my name, but know this. This proves that you can't ever forget who you truly are. How rotten and festered and fly-bitten you and your retched father are."

The man paled, gasping like a Feebass tore from the water by a fishing rod, gasping as if for a chance to inhale the sweet breath of life once more. Something told him no, and he slumped, seizing up like a broken piano key and letting out one final melodic whimper of that of the dying key.

He died.

It was a dishonorable way to go; with a whimper, with a silent plead that would only disappoint you as some greater being smacked your reaching hand way and told you you weren't deserving of it. He had felt the same way before, only that he wasn't at the brink of death when he felt it on at regular intervals.

A blood stain was fast blooming on the peachy rug, but he made no move to try and stop it.

The assassin's last comment had stopped his heart cold; his lungs were frozen, his brain and all coherent thoughts disrupted, his whole body sent into shock.

_"… you can't ever forget who you are. How_ rotten_ and _festered_ and _fly-bitten_ you and your retched father are." _

The pain was too much; he cried out. He hurled the dagger at the dead man's body, watching it land in the fast gathering pool of the assassin's blood and disappearing into its forbidden depths. His hands flew to his face, and he ripped at it, fingernails scraping ragged his flawless auburn skin; the pain, the anger, all the deeper versions of the emotions he had sealed within him, the poured from the scrapes on the sides of his face, finally free to wreak their havoc on his body.

Forget who he was? _Forget who he was?! _Every day, when he looked at his reflection or when he would pause to stare at the cursed family heirloom he had been forced to be burdened with, he was constantly reminded of who he was; of the mutated eyesore he father had made him. He was always reminded when his _own _hand was slapped away as he reached for some grasp at a higher place, and told he wasn't deserving of it.

His entire family tree, dating back accurately for centuries, they all had white hair. A simple family defect, they were albino-haired, fair-skinned, and light-colored in the eyes, his own father included. His father was an identical twin to his uncle, their only defining characteristics that of their universally different personalities and values; values that might have played a role in the macabre mockery that was his life. Akiren was a perfect model of what an heir to the presaged royal family should look like, the very embodiment of chromosomal perfection.

But he was not.

He had dark skin, darker than any of his family members', the color of rich tan tea with Moomoo milk poured in it; his hair was black as an eclipse, his eyes were deep and dark as the midnight sky, and were smudged by flickers of light rather than shining. Every single trait about him was unheard of in a family of white-hairs and blue-eyes, pale-skins and mild manners; every single part of him was a flaw, an abominity. And all because of one secret hidden from so many, yet some many more knew the ludicrous truth as well.

The queen had been unable to bear children.

It seemed almost fitting that the Hero of lies and deceit would be the one who was unfaithful. His own father had been born into a cold family with a harsh protocol, and so he in turn was born of a harsh truth that the queen had to accept or reject; and upon accepting him, his very existence became a lie. The rumors and whispers of his true origin had longed plagued the family and the truth behind all the gossip and speculation was one many had expected, but many more hadn't even dared fathom:

He was born in Ransei, to the seaside kingdom of Fountaine, bastard son to the _great _King Balin. His father had met his mother there, and within their illicit affair, he was conceived. He knew so little about his mother, as he was pried away from her by his father at the age of four years. He knew he looked like her though; same dark skin and hair, same purple eyes and heart melting smile and biting personality that made him so much more vulnerable than perceived. They were both demons trapped within deceptively angelic features, both with horrible realities they were forced to deal if they wanted to hang on to the receding string that was their shared humanity. He knew they clung to each other for sanity, her's the reality of the chance of her life ending because of the man she loved and his that of being destroyed because his father hated him even then. He was always seen as a monster in his father's eyes.

The dagger had been slipped between his fingers on the last day he was to ever see her alive just before he boarded a ship that would ultimately lead to his life today.

All his life he had been looked down upon, cast out, called and made out an eyesore for all of those burdened by his existence; he was almost positive his father died happy knowing he wouldn't have to look at the unfortunate mistake he had made in a willy-nilly affair with a lucky whore and continue to live in shame of his actions. He knew he would have felt the exact same way.

He was doomed to a solitary life of anger and loathing, deep and dark and void of the pleasures he tried to fill his empty existence with. The death of the pathetic young man wasn't even enough to bring him to fake a heartless smile; he truly felt like the dark entity his dragon itself was supposed to be.

He wrinkled his nose, the painful emotions he had just been feeling draining out in a matter of seconds and gifting him coherent thoughts and the breath in his chest; breath he suddenly wished had decided to return a few moments later. The body was beginning to smell.

He blinked one, twice, trying to readjust to the current time. The body of the assassin had deflated greatly, a putrid gaseous smell pervading the air now that it had a free passageway that wasn't filled with blood. The red puddle on the floor had blossomed to a bleeding flower of sorts, the smears and drips almost like pollen and fallen petals floating in a nonexistent breeze. It was beautiful, in an elegantly gruesome way. His dagger was the stem.

_Fitting… _

He dipped down to retrieve his ebony-bone dagger from the bloody flower; leaving evidence was not a wise idea after killing someone, no matter how high your standing position in the government was. And a revolt now would be the absolute _last _thing he needed right now; he had come far too damn far on this wretched path to smash it to bits with simply being careless now The blood dripped effortlessly off the blade, leaving it streak-free and spotless once again; he wouldn't even have to clean it. Fountaine craftsmanship had aided him once again.

Willamena shifted suddenly, making him look up with a visceral glare of hostility; she simply rolled over, burying her head in the silken depths of a large cream-colored body pillow roughly the same size of her. He deflated glancing over her sleeping face again; no longer was she a doll he wanted to break in half; she had regained her frail, porcelain princess image and now he wanted nothing more than to just look away from her aching beauty because he feared she would break under the pressure of his gaze.

And he knew she would always be a prize hidden within a glass case he could only admire from afar. His lack of emotion allowed his only this.

He blinked again; he was very tired and thirsty, like he had ran for miles without ever stopping to breath, daring himself to do it all as breathless as he felt when he looked at Willamena's alien beauty. The confrontation with the assassin, the regaling of his earliest memories, the temptation of watching with pleasure as Willamena's throat was slit seamlessly open and her body dyed a hypnotic dying red as she drowned in her own blood; he was exhausted. He longed for air and water, but somehow he felt like he still had so much more running left to do, so many more exhausting tasks at his feet.

He overstepped the bled-dry body of the Fountaine man, coming up beside Willamena; thoughts of losing her swirled about his head. What would he miss the most? What did he truly want from her? Something inside of him had been telling him to save her, allow her to live, but for what? Whatever sick, twisted, selfish reason it was, if it allowed his to stand here and stroke her cheek like he actually felt something as he was now, he decided he could live with it for the time being. The ache to touch her, even if it was only for a fleeting moment, he had to comply with it.

He was so tempted, within this stolen moment, to simply take his own form of revenge against her. '_To the victor go the spoils' _and all; but something steeled within him and he couldn't bear to do anything else to the girl this evening. His fingers burned as he pulled away from her skin, the sinking feeling of unworthiness reviling in his gut. He hadn't even deserved this moment with her now; what was he even doing?

_"Your ideals and selfishness have led you to make decisions… you may be worthy of me after all, purple-eyed bastard son." _

The voice was low and guttural in his ear, and he was too exhausted to jump at its suddenness. He thought for a moment there was another assassin behind him, but inexplicably, he knew there was no one behind him, and the voice had come from an entirely different entity all together. As if to spur it on, he placed his full hand back over Willamena's cheek, enjoying the warmth of another human body, which only seemed to please the voice; it clawed more ravenously at his insides, and he submitted to its anger and greed.

_"Our ideals are intertwined, just as will our destinies be. Your emotions will bore the future… and only time will tell if you are worthy of them or not. " _

**Jeez, this took a while to fix up~ gomen everybody, but an eternal thank you to Latara Hanu for spurring me on on updating and Crimson Clarity for being my faithful beta throughout this irking process. But all in all, I really do like telling this story, so it will go on until I finish it, no matter how long it goes between updates! XD ****Another thing I like doing is writing about Dhiren and Akiren's relationship; they're almost enemies by nature but they still care for each other. Quite frankly, its adorable. *fan-girl giggle***

**So next time in this whatever-part story:****a decision is made, a conviction is founded, and questions reign in some unholy answers...**

**Luv ya all~ 3**


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